


The Sword Among His Pinions

by Saucery



Category: Cesare (Manga)
Genre: Bloodplay, Dom/sub Undertones, Knifeplay, Loyalty, M/M, Marathon Sex, Master/Servant, Or is it Bottoming from the Top?, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overly Lyrical Descriptions of Sex, Poetic, Porn Disguised as Poetry, Romance, Scary Sex, Smut, Teasing, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-17
Updated: 2012-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-29 17:00:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a strange thing, to pledge allegiance to a serpent. It is to admit a certain fondness for poison, a taste for that which burns and blackens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sword Among His Pinions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iridania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridania/gifts).



> For Iridania, who requested Cesare/Miguel, and "anything involving blood".

* * *

  


It is a strange thing, to pledge allegiance to a serpent. It is to admit a certain fondness for poison, a taste for that which burns and blackens. A taste for ash. A fire of the soul.

Miguel's soul is lost. Lost to this keen-eyed boy, whose mouth is as soft as a demon's, and whose tongue is as forked. Cesare loves him, yes, but Miguel knows better than to believe that this _shelters_ him; Cesare's love is more dangerous than his enmity, more devouring, more complete. None can survive it. Miguel knows that he won't.

For Cesare is smooth, as a serpent is smooth, and only at his hands do his sword-calluses roughen, and whisper, like scales, over Miguel's skin.

"It's been two hours," says Cesare, above him, still moving, still riding him, slowly, as if Miguel were his stallion on a long journey across the planes. Certainly, there are hot summers and blazing horizons, here; Miguel can do nothing but ache and endure them. "You must be thirsty."

Yes. No. "Please," says Miguel, because he has to, because Cesare wants him to.

Cesare's eyes are slitted, heavy-lidded, when he pulls out his dagger. It's a gleaming curve in the firelight, a serpent's fang. Cesare draws it across himself, across his own sweat-slicked chest, and gasps as the blade gathers blood. That his hand is still steady is an insult; that the cut is shallow, but might not have been, is a terror. To harm that body - that precious body, that Miguel has protected for so long, and that Cesare so carelessly _endangers_ -

" _Please_ \- " Miguel's hips buck, despite himself, and Cesare laughs. Softly. And sinks down upon him, and rises, and sinks down again. Miguel stares up at him, panting, blinded.

"Oh, you _are_ thirsty. Well, then," he says, brings the flat of the blade to Miguel's mouth, so that Miguel can taste him on it, dark-tinged and coppery, poisonous and sweet. "Drink."  


  


* * *

  


 **fin.**  
Please review!

**Author's Note:**

> The title is based on the following poem:
> 
> When love beckons to you, follow him,  
> Though his ways are hard and steep.  
> And when his wings enfold you, yield to him,  
> Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.  
> And when he speaks to you, believe in him,  
> Though his voice may shatter your dreams  
> As the north wind lays waste the garden.
> 
> \- Kahlil Gibran, _The Prophet_.


End file.
